An Acquaintance of Two GSR
by sarapals with past50
Summary: A little history of past seasons, a little forcast for Season 10--what we would like to see when Heather and Sara meet--socially. Fluff--no one dies, a little sweet stuff. May change rating. Not part of A Few Days, a stand-alone story set in Vegas
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: We had to do it at some point--our story of Heather Kessler and Sara Sidle; and Gil Grissom, of course. He's the reason! Maybe this happens in season 10 and we never see it on screen. _

_We don't own CSI or any characters mentioned or played on said series. Too bad!! _

**An Acquaintance of Two Chapter 1**

HKHKHK

Heather Kessler thought she knew the underbelly of Vegas until she began counseling; her former work had prepared her to show no shock or surprise, but even that experience had limited her exposure to what people actually did to others—all in the name of "family life". She was happy she had no conventional family if her patients indicated ordinary or average, which is what most would say.

She walked around the empty room, moving a chair back in place, trying to rid the air of the screaming, the sulking, the sadness of the couple who had left the space. The newspaper was folded, carelessly left on the table. She picked it up to throw it away.

Another crime scene photograph from the never-ending cycle of violence occurring daily in Las Vegas caught her attention at the top of the fold. She surprised herself by reading the lines underneath the headline; usually she did not want to add another layer of disrupted life to what she heard in this office. A gang related murder victim lay in the doorway of one of the mass-produced housing projects that had sprouted as weeds in a sidewalk.

She looked at the picture again, holding it a little further from her eyes, thinking she recognized one of the people standing in the small yard. It couldn't be, she thought— who it appeared to be. Quickly, she searched for a name, finding police officers names and the name of the victim, but nothing else. She put the newspaper on her desk.

She finished her notes, made several phone calls, and checked on Alison before another patient arrived in the office. The young woman had been abused, sexually molested by a family friend as a child. She would never have a fulfilled or satisfying life, not even a life without extreme loneliness and shattered dreams of a victim who placed trust before knowing what trust meant. Heather had been talking with the woman for months and believed the only positive outcome was the postponement of more self-inflicted harm.

Another hour passed before she turned again to the newspaper. The dark hair, the slim build, the posture seemed to fit her memory. She had seen Sara Sidle once, no twice—once in person, once on a computer screen. She remembered what she had heard one rainy night about the woman Gil Grissom loved.

SSGSSGSSG

Her feet were propped on an open drawer; from the noise in the hallway, she knew the ball game that started across desks had migrated to include more than the two sharing this office. She closed her eyes—slow night.

…Sara never expected to return to Las Vegas except to pack up the contents of the condo she and Grissom shared. At one time, she considered telling him to do it and put her things in storage. When she was depressed and burned out, when she wanted never to see another sunrise or sunset in the city she had called home, where she had loved a man with all her heart.

Not until she left with intentions never to return did her life change. On a ship bound for a destination below the equator she realized that she was living again; she was able to smile and forget the hurt, the dark days of her life, the ghosts that filled her waking thoughts. Of course, she did not forget him—if she lived to be one hundred years and a day, she could never forget the only man she would ever love. He had moved on, taking part of her soul, her heart, and all of her love with him; withered, he called it.

And it was easy for Sara to believe. No one had ever loved her for long. As a child, she learned to observe her surroundings, always guarded, ready to hide, or dodge a hand or some object, because there was no love. So, as she heard his words, said about Pam Adler, she knew he meant "them", not Pam. That day, she closed off her heart, sealing what she felt for Grissom into that same chamber she kept for those ghosts she tried so desperately to forget. But she did not forget—most days she thought of him every hour, and some nights, she lay awake on the small research ship, and remembered his voice, his touch, his eyes, his smell—everything about him returned as if he were lying beside her on the narrow cot.

A month into the voyage, she managed to send a short video, saying she was happy, telling him he was right, this was the best way, saying words to a camera that repeated what he had said to her in his office. She was happy; that was no lie. She loved learning and working with the researchers; and she had found her meticulous note taking was appreciated, even envied, as she freed hands to work on projects.

As she had no plans, it was easy to find a land based research group who took volunteers into Costa Rica. Again, she found her forensic skills useful with plotting grids, collecting specimens, photographing monkeys, taking notes, and dozens of other assignments. She had found work that did not involve death, dying, bloody footprints, or deadly bullets, and she was happier than she had been in months. She thought less about Grissom, less about the ghosts, good and bad ones, in her past—most of the time. Yet, she was lonely; at night, in her tent, her heart ached for one person and she cried herself to sleep in the noisy rainforest.

_A/N: Let us know something! Thanks!!_


	2. Chapter 2

**An Acquaintance of Two Chapter Two**

In one brief sunny moment her heart leaped to her throat when she turned to find a sweaty, tired Gil Grissom looking uncertain, almost timid, at the edge of the camp. And she lived again, completely, without the haunting images of her past, without doubt and pain and darkness. She experienced life with a new spirit in a jungle filled with butterflies, frogs, monkeys, birds, lizards, and 30,000 insects—and embraced the lover who had come to her because of love.

A weekend escape to the nearest town meant long hours spent in the closeness they craved where they remained in the clean, wide bed of a nameless resort, ate foods other than the standard beans and rice of camp living, stayed cool with a fan moving above the bed, and took long showers—shared. She loved having Gil Grissom all alone. He lost the shyness, the reserve he exhibited when working with her around others.

"Come here," he said, reaching across the bed to pull her closer. They were less than two feet apart and she rolled to face him. It was easy to love him, she thought, as his hands wrapped around her waist, slipped down her backside, and snuggled her to his hips. "We need to talk."

They had talked—every day—about plans for the day, or tomorrow. Only once had she asked about their future and gotten a shrug and a grunt as an answer.

"I want to do something else," Sara said as her hands began to move along his thigh. He looked better than he had in years; tan, trim, a ready grin on his face, and a somewhat shaggy beard. She kissed him, teasing with quick kisses until she touched his lips. She got what she wanted.

His fingers stroked and touched her in ways known to intimate lovers, finding the soft, passionate button of nerves within her that is sought by every skillful lover but actually found by few. She responded with an explosive burst of passion, arching her back to meet him, bringing him wholly into her with an easy, natural movement of her body to his.

When her eyes opened, he was above her, holding her head between his hands, displaying an ingenious little smile. "Got what you wanted, dear?"

She moved again, keeping him inside her, placing kisses on his face. "Yes," she whispered. He began to move as she met his rhythmic pace, emotion building again as he continued kissing her, moving his hands to pull her even closer. To love him was all she needed in life, and just as she fell into that sparkling whirlpool of passion, she knew what they would do.

Hours later, he held out a letter. "This came from Ecklie." A request for help; the lab was short-handed. Again. Could Grissom recommend someone?

They lay together in a braided hammock, Sara's dangling foot kept them swaying. They had found this place by accident, leaving the remote research camp every week or so in search of the privacy they desired. They had stayed in condos and cabins, hotels and cottages until a local cab driver had suggested a small resort literally at the end of the road. After one night they knew they were in paradise; they rented the two-room bungalow leaving some of their things when they returned to camp, gave the place as a local address, and asked the owners to witness a civil ceremony of marriage.

Sara giggled as she held out her left hand with its plain gold band on her ring finger. "I guess I could go back as Sara Grissom—sort of pay my dues for leaving everyone short-handed—not once but twice."

"Would you want to do that?" Grissom asked, his voice serious, as his hand caught hers and played with the smooth yellow band. It had taken three long months to convince her to marry him; two months of dropping hints followed by daily suggestions and finally an agreement—and some people said he was stubborn.

She brought her leg into the hammock and wrapped it across his, hugging his chest as she shifted. "What if I did? You said we needed to talk—what do we do after the research project closes down in a few weeks?" Her fingers lifted a curl of his hair. "I know you want to write," she chuckled. "Don't pretend otherwise! I've heard you—the guys would love to add your name to published work—and to have you give presentations at all those conferences they talk about."

"We don't have to be in Vegas for me to do that," he said, all too aware of her fears, nightmares, and doubts associated with the place they had called their home. He was also concerned for her mental health if she returned to work in the crime lab.

She sighed. "I know—it's something I need to do, Gil. I should call Ecklie. I do miss those guys. I need to say goodbye—a real goodbye. And I could re-qualify—I think I remember enough to pass the tests." She continued playing with his hair as she said, "We have a dog there—and a very nice place to live."

He had no doubt she would pass with high scores; her firearm qualification was among the highest in the lab, and taking the skills and knowledge test was as easy for her as putting on a jacket.

"We can think about it for a few days before calling Ecklie." He did not want her to regret her decision.

…Sara returned to Las Vegas and to work, smiling, confident, "like the old Sara" Nick said as he pulled her into a hug. Ecklie was surprised when she called, saying she was willing to return for a short time; and she was equally surprised at his quick agreement. Only as an afterthought did he remember to ask if Grissom would be with her.

_A/N: Here is Chapter 2 of our unseen (and unlikely) events of Season 10--with a few flashbacks to get there. Enjoy! And if you've read this far--leave us a review! Thanks so much---_


	3. Chapter 3

**An Acquaintance of Two Chapter 3**

The phone's ring brought her back to the present, back to the continuing ball play in the hall. When she picked it up, she expected Grissom—no one outside the department knew she was back, and rather playfully she answered. Sara continued holding the phone long after the disconnect—unsure of what she had just done. More than two years had passed since she had heard the voice yet knew instantly who said, "Hello, Sara."

Funny how a voice brought back memories—how furious she had been all those years ago…

Sara heard about Lady Heather's Dominion from Nick, who described the room, what he saw, blushing as he talked.

"You would not believe it, Sara," Nick said. "We get weird all the time, but this place is beyond weird."

"You wouldn't go to a place like that? For entertainment," she teased.

His look provided an answer as he said, "No ma'm, no way." He settled against the seat as she drove. "There is something deeply wrong with people who get their kicks like that." Sara heard his quick laugh. "I'm all for romance—sweet stuff. Not inflicted pain. I want soft, silky, gentle—you get the picture." He paused. "What about you?"

"Definitely not into S & M." Sara kept her eyes on the highway. Nick knew nothing about the pain, terror and wounds of her life. "What did Grissom think?"

He chuckled. "You know Grissom. He can be pretty weird but even he has to think this place is off the scale of weirdness."

Later, it was Catherine who talked about Heather, in her rapid monologue describing Heather as a smart, wealthy woman who had capitalized on a man's world. In the beginning, Catherine only hinted at Grissom's interest in Lady Heather—including Brass as she described their open-mouth awe as Heather had unlocked her business—doors and appointments—to solve a murder.

Months passed before Lady Heather's place came back into conversations at the lab. Brass and Catherine gossiped about the dominion, Lady Heather dot com, and Gil Grissom's fascination with Heather Kessler. Sara heard the whispers and chose to ignore them. She dared not believe what was said; time would pass before she would have the courage to ask Grissom.

Eventually, she knew what Grissom said about Heather. That conversation had began early one morning as he was busy removing Sara's clothes.

"Tell me about Lady Heather," she said.

His fingers stopped at her hips and the kisses following had momentarily slowed. He mumbled some unintelligible words.

"Tell," she said, wiggling out of her jeans with his help.

"I want to do something else." His hands were already fingering the elastic of her panties.

Sara crossed her ankles. She giggled. "Tell me or the 'something else' will be me leaving!"

"You wouldn't do that," he whispered; his breath tickling her neck. His finger slipped beneath the elastic and gently touched her, caressing, finding dampness already there. His fingers remained against her skin as he moved to kiss her neck, playing his tongue along her ear. Feathery touches brought an involuntary shiver and a soft moan.

Her fingers pushed his pants down and her foot managed a skillful maneuver to remove them completely. Skin touched skin.

The heat and pressure against her thigh opened her legs in response to a sudden urgent passion. She knew he had the same needs.

"Heather," she whispered. "You are going to tell me." He had found his place, sliding hands below her butt as he pressed and entered. She made a quick intake of air, always surprised by the gentleness of this physical act with him.

"Later," he said, before his mouth closed on hers.

_A/N: Short chapter--but take a breath and another chapter later today! Review, please?!!_


	4. Chapter 4

**An Acquaintance of Two Chapter 4**

Afterwards, they lay together tangled in arms and legs and sheets. Sara folded against his body in a way more intimate than anyone had ever been with him. Her curves curled around his angles, slipped against his chest, and nestled in the space between chin and shoulder. Her leg wrapped around and across his thigh bringing her feminine center to rest against his hip. He could feel the warm moisture from their lovemaking just as he felt her fingertips trace small circles on his chest.

"I want to know about Heather," she said.

His hand closed over hers. "You don't have to worry about Heather," he said. "I've talked with her a few times—that's all."

Sara raised her head. "Look at me." His eyes opened. "Brass and Catherine think you have some—some romantic attraction to her. They say she's smart and clever, a challenge for you."

"She's not you, Sara." He pulled her back against his shoulder. "She's never here." His hand covered his chest. "I could never be like this with her." He took her hand, bringing it to his lips.

After a moment of silence, Sara asked, "Why do Brass and Catherine say those things?"

He made a gruff snort. "Because they like to talk, Honey."

He avoided saying more about Heather. He would tease, making her smile. He said she was his one and only, sometimes saying he loved her; adding it had taken to long for him to say those words. They would go to bed and love each other, forgetting the dead and dying for awhile.

Those days had been filled with the excitement, the passion, the crazy obsession of learning about each other with the exhilaration of having a part of life unknown and untouchable from everyone else; the days when they were so careful at work, so protective to shield what they were to each other from everyone else. Release of passion followed long hours of restraint and suppression; hands could not be stilled as they sought each other in the cool darkness of her bedroom, or his.

One night, after a brutal case that exhausted both, he had entered her shower, holding her as warm water streamed over both. He had been fully clothed when he stepped into the shower. She had managed to remove his shirt as he kissed her, touched her in places and in ways no other person had ever done. Sex had begun in the shower as his fingers stroked, separated, and slipped into her before he lifted her against the tiles. His belt buckle had imprinted against her belly—she had the mark for days—causing him to apologize over and over, later, when they continued in bed. Those were the days before either would say the word "love", refused to use it to define what was happening. Once she said the f-word as a description of what they were doing, but Grissom with his old-fashioned ideas about certain things, made her promise to never use the word again.

A few days later, Grissom said it first. "I love you, Sara." He was standing in her small kitchen, had cooked pancakes in late afternoon, and she was reading the Sunday paper.

She almost asked "What?" but managed to say instead, "Grissom—you know—I—I…"and he leaned over the counter and kissed her. He tasted of maple syrup.

"We could live together, you know."

This time she did say "What?" not believing she had heard his words correctly.

As it worked out, they found a new place to call their own and, for the first time in her life, Sara began to build a home.

HKHKHKHK

Heather knew Grissom, as she did most men, the first time he entered her house—Mona Taylor's death brought him to her door and into her life for a few days. His curiosity, his intelligence, his guilt or fear of living, she understood. And he did not judge her or her business; asking questions and listening to her answers. He respected her, unlike Captain Brass.

A year, or more, passed before Grissom knocked on her door again. She had been surprised as they moved into an effortless, undemanding conversation. She had recognized a slight change in him as he focused on her lips as she talked—he was losing his ability to hear.

She remembered the touch of his hand on her face, a spontaneous act of unexpected contact that was withdrawn just as quickly as he stepped back, obviously surprised at his action and her reaction. They spent the night together, comfortable with each other, sitting in the private rooms she called home, talking about her business, the online voyeurism of the Internet, the safeguards in place for physical contacts, and the intricacy of sexual fetishes. As a scientist, more so than a man, he was greedy for information, for facts, for details. He was a quick study as she was a good teacher.

By morning, Heather served him tea, teasing as she poured the hot beverage into a fine china cup. He enjoyed certain old fashioned customs—an only son with a living mother, she presumed. Otherwise, Gil Grissom was a difficult man to know; he did not talk about himself and any effort she made to turn the conversation to his interests or his desires, he skillfully maneuvered his words to be ambiguously vague. He would make an excellent chess partner or poker player, she thought. And just as quickly as they had established a certain intimacy, he stopped any possibility of proceeding when he abruptly called for a warrant.

Heather did not see Grissom again, angry that he would betray her, angry that he did not ask for her insulin—she would have freely given what he requested. Instead, she was left alone with Captain Brass while Grissom hid behind a two-way mirror. She knew he was there as she said, "I know you, and I know that in your heart you don't believe I did this."

_A/N: Thanks for reading!! Continue---_


	5. Chapter 5

**An Acquaintance of Two Chapter 5**

SSGSSGSSG

For most of a year, Sara's life with Grissom was a dream of two worlds. At work, they were professional—no one suspected, no one gossiped, no one knew. After work, they met in their home—one Grissom let Sara decorate with books and keepsakes, with photographs and all those personal things she had often wished for but had never had a home to place them. He would smile and nod his head in agreement as she busied herself with a small herb garden or buy another lamp or cooking pot.

They even found a dog at an animal shelter—one that followed Sara from room to room. She called the dog Bruno, but Grissom insisted on the name of Hank.

"Why?" She asked.

"To remind me," Grissom said, "of being thick headed, of ignoring you—Hank is my atonement." Bruno became Hank.

Greg's attack had shaken Sara. To see her colleague, her friend beaten and bruised brought back the nightmares of her childhood. She struggled to hide how much it affected her.

The miniature crime scenes troubled Grissom more than he would admit. When he answered the request to present a college seminar, she knew he needed a break from all the problems, the never-ending case load, the weight of the lab. Not her, he said, he was not leaving her. And, as if to prove it, he made love to her in their long, lingering way bringing her to multiple organisms before releasing his own passion, his lips leaving a dark red mark on the soft skin of her shoulder. His mark, he said, as he tenderly kissed it as she lay naked across his bed.

"What about you?" She asked, teasingly. "How do I mark you? To keep all those college girls away?"

He had grown serious, his eyes becoming a dark blue as he tightly held her. "There will never be anyone else, Sara—never. You—only you—are the center of my heart."

Sara remained in Vegas—to work, to walk Hank, to wait for him, and to keep their secret from everyone, almost everyone.

Greg knew. Standing on either side of his bed, his face black and blue, his eyes swollen shut, they had made small talk when he suddenly said, "You two—you're together."

Grissom had looked at her and replied, simply, "Yeah, we are."

Greg's smile had caused him to wince with pain as he said, "Good." And the subject had not been mentioned again.

Sara thought Brass knew; he never said it, but after Grissom left on his sabbatical, Brass would greet her each day, asking if she needed anything without giving a hint that her lover was gone.

Grissom returned—hours earlier than planned, showed up at work after she had been diving in garbage, and smelled of rotted potatoes. She had used lemons, lines and baking soda but if he had noticed an objectionable odor, he certainly was not bothered as he practically attacked her when she walked in the door. She smiled at the memory—perhaps she had attacked him, jumping into his arms, stumbling and tripping over Hank as they hurried to their bedroom.

Absence and abstaince brought hours of passion as she rediscovered him and he remembered the reason he had returned to Vegas.

A few weeks later, she met Heather Kessler—after she had listened to Catherine go on and on about Heather and Grissom, how Catherine believed he had spent the night with Heather, about the attraction between them. Hearing Catherine's opinion infuriated Sara to no end and deciding it was time to meet the elusive, intelligent woman, Sara grabbed her kit, telling Catherine, "I'm going to collect evidence."

The person she found was a beaten, battered woman, reminding Sara of her own mother more than the strong, dominatrix business woman described by Catherine.

Sara quietly asked questions, took photos, asking permission to touch her. She knew before Heather whispered his name who had opened the door. Grissom, appearing concerned, confused, unable to speak coherently until she was ready to leave, had stood in the doorway or paced the hall as Sara finished her work. She had made it easy, providing a reason for him to stay by leaving unfinished paperwork at Heather's bedside, asking him to get a signature.

She worked the case—photographs, the shot glass, the fingerprints—and Heather's refusal to talk, made the rounds of shifts and break room gossip. She tried to tease Grissom about lipstick but got his thoughts on Heather's state of mind instead.

"It makes no sense…" he said after she told him of the multiple rope marks and refusal of the SAE kit. She saw his concern, an expression of apprehension and alarm as he tried to piece the puzzle together. And he disappeared.

The body of the security guard, found by Brass and Catherine, brought another case to Sara's load—this one added guns and bullets and a murder connected to Heather Kessler.

Much later, a wave of whispered words entered the lab, washed over every surface, spreading into every corner, going from a mouth to an ear as a child's game.

"Brass and Catherine found him there."

"Grissom was with Lady Heather."

"All night!"

"I knew there was something."

"He's her alibi."

Catherine ranted on and on, confronted Grissom, she said. "He spent the night with her! What was he thinking?"

Sara kept quiet. He had his reasons, she thought. Whatever had happened did not concern the two of them. And she was furious—angry with the gossip, and with Catherine, and Brass, and, yes, Grissom.

The gossip spread throughout the lab about a man she considered above reproach. Yes, she admitted, he was on a pedestal and the gossipers wanted to taint his reputation, make his behavior that of a common affair.

She was angry at Brass and Catherine for telling where they had found Grissom. Neither had protected the man who deserved their loyalty—the man who had defended, guarded them in the past.

And she was upset with Grissom. He had not called her; he had made no attempt to find her while she worked to offer an explanation until he showed up in the layout room. His stumbling attempt at explaining caused her frustration to dissipate as quickly as it had formed. When he said her name, "Sara," she knew. Heather trusted Grissom just as she did.

"Do what you need to do," she said, leaving just a touch of irritation in her voice as she left him. He knew where to find her.

Later, she woke from a sound sleep to find his fingers playing in her hair. "Hi," she muttered.

"I brought you ice cream," he said.

He smelled of soap and water; her hand found his damp hair before she opened her eyes. "You smell nice."

"I'm sorry."

She smiled. "For what?"

He slipped beside her into the bed. She felt the soft fabric of his pants against her leg, his cool feet against hers, as his arms wrapped around her body. "I'm sorry I didn't call you—I—I wasn't thinking."

Sara snuggled against his shoulder. "It's fine, really."

"Sara—I love you."

She smiled against his chest as she tugged him into her arms. Their life was good, she thought, as she heard his deep sigh.

In a few weeks, their private world was destroyed by Natalie, by a brush with death, by others learning about their relationship, by Hannah and pain and anger, by a crushing sadness that she could not overcome. Grissom knew—she did not sleep, she could not eat—and he could not put their world together again.

_A/N: We will be away for a day, so only one chapter today. This story has a long introduction and set-up, but, hopefully you will find it worth the wait for what's coming! Thanks for reading!!!_


	6. Chapter 6

**An Acquaintance of Two Chapter 6**

HKHKHK

…Shocked surprise had been her response to seeing Grissom standing on her porch, protected from a soaking rain by her porch. In the beginning, she had believed he had come because of a victim. He had been in her house because of other victims.

Heather was not indebted or obligated to many people and Grissom was one of a very small group. Twice. He had rescued her from committing certain murder. She had no desire to live after Zoë died—not after the way she had been killed. She knew torture and she knew how to prolong pain and she knew she could kill. Grissom had stopped her.

He had called emergency technicians after wrapping his coat around her and putting her inside his vehicle. He had covered the man she was beating with a blanket, had given both something to drink and walked back and forth between the two until the ambulance came screeching to a stop. He had also called Jim Brass. And he had taken her home—into her back door, lifting her from the seat and carrying her exhausted body into her house.

Her long-time housekeeper, Maria, had taken over when they had arrived; neither had secrets from the other. That night, Maria had taken charge; undressed and bathed her, managed to keep Grissom in the hallway, and called two men who arrived within minutes of each other. By then, she was sitting at her table with hot tea.

"You should leave, Grissom." She found it difficult to look at him.

"I'll stay."

One of the men stood, "Come with me, Dr. Grissom." He waved a hand in the direction of the back door.

The other man moved his head in the same direction but did not leave his chair.

Grissom left the table.

"We'll take care of this. You need to leave. I'm paid to do this kind of thing. The judge will make sure nothing ever comes of it." The man, Heather's attorney, opened the door. "Talk to Jim Brass—he's too honest for his own good."

After that night, Heather's life careened out of control. She had needed a good therapist but refused to seek help. Lady Heather's Dominion and website continued but she was no longer interested. Instead, she spent money searching for the child of her daughter. When she realized the courts would decide custody, that her ex-husband who had not known of his own daughter contested her petition, and no family court would award custody to a person in her business, she was destroyed. And a devastated sadness overwhelmed her ability to function, to want to live. She devised another plan.

Grissom saved her life again as she lay in a hospital bed. He found her at home after she left the hospital. He would never be called a conversationalist, but his subtle questions, his quiet comments about the woman he loved, the restrained observations gave her a voice, a trust in someone for the first time in months. She talked about Zoë, about her granddaughter, and about her loss. And he gave her life—not in what he said, but in what he did—when he arrived with Alison…

He had come again to ask questions about a case, another dead body with wounds of violent sadism, but Heather sensed a change—not his hearing, she knew his surgery had been successful. They continued to talk—she talked about behavior, inflicted pain, things he could have learned from another source. She looked at the photographs, the images of the victim's bedroom and explained her opinions.

She gradually realized the depression etched into his tired face; he was no longer excited about his work but going through motions by habit. She had read about Warrick Brown yet the depression she perceived was not of loss by death—she knew too well the depth of that emotional state—but something else, something that affected his ability to function, his purpose in life was gone.

"Where's Sara," she asked. Before Alison, before she could begin to live again, he had stayed with her all night and he talked because she could not—about his life, the young woman he worked with, lived with, and loved. She had seen a part of Grissom that night that he revealed to few—a man in love with a woman.

After he slept, as she sat beside him and read an old novel, he played the short video of Sara saying the same words he had regretted saying.

"She loves you, Grissom," she said. And before he left, after playing with Alison, after eating breakfast, as he said goodbye, she knew he would leave Vegas. A new determination showed in his eyes—he was saying goodbye to her, but also to his job, his profession, and to loneliness…

Heather looked again at the photograph—she wanted to meet Sara Sidle. She wanted to talk with her as an acquaintance, socially, in a non-threatening situation. She wanted to meet the woman Gil Grissom loved. And she wanted to know what had happened in the past year. She reached for her phone.

_Next chapter up shortly--as the story finally gets to their actually meeting!!!_


	7. Chapter 7

**An Acquaintance of Two Chapter 7**

SSGSSGSSG

Sara arrived early after a slow night, a quick shower, and change of clothes. She did not want to meet Heather in jeans and a blue windbreaker jacket. The play area, north side, Heather had suggested. Sara knew she could find the place even though she rarely shopped in places like this and even then never gave much notice to the playgrounds. She passed a bookstore, the chain-type that offered coffee and books, and a dozen other stores found in malls all over the country. Trees requiring more water in a month than Las Vegas received in a year lined the sidewalks—what a waste, she thought. She made one wrong turn and retraced her steps, enjoying the cool morning as she searched for the elusive play area.

She saw a woman pushing a stroller and realized she could follow the evidence—kids to play ground. Her phone buzzed with Grissom's tone.

"Hey," she answered.

"You're not home yet," he said.

"I didn't want to disturb you—I'm meeting someone this morning."

"Anyone I know?"

"Yeah—you do. Heather Kessler."

Silence met her ear for at least thirty seconds. "Heather?" He paused again. "A case?"

She giggled, in spite of or because of her nervousness. "She called—saw my picture in the paper—asked if we could meet—to talk." She knew she was talking to fast, stammering her words out in a jumpy way that revealed more than she wanted.

"Okay," he said, quietly. "You two—you will find things to talk about. I'm sure."

Again, she laughed nervously. "I think so. Do you want to meet us? We're at Town Square—the play area."

This time the laugh came from him. "No, I think I'll let you and Heather talk—tell her hello." Neither said anything for several seconds. "Sara."

"Yeah."

"I love you." He took a deep breath. "Heather's a good person; you will like her."

Sara pocketed the phone; this should be an interesting encounter. She had not heard anything about Lady Heather since Grissom had spent a night with her and the entire lab knew about it. Of course, that gossip was forgotten because of something bigger, something that had been happening right in front of them and no one had noticed.

The play area was surrounded by benches with a variety of women—mothers, grandmothers, nannies, only an occasionally man—who watched as children played on the colorful swings, riders, ladders, and tunnels. High pitched squeals, fearless and cautious, filled the air as she made her way to a vacant bench.

Most of the time, Sara did not think about children, or childhood. Occasionally, as now, watching these happy children, she tried to imagine having her own, a baby or a toddler who grew to resemble her, or, she smiled, one who looked like Grissom, and as her eyes roamed the edges of the playground, she was puzzled as to why Heather had suggested this place. Until she saw her, dressed in a dark slim skirt and bright colored jacket, and the child bouncing beside her; the child—a girl—laughed as she pointed to something and Heather bent to speak to her.

Something flashed in Sara's mind; her thoughts stopped, air left her lungs, her vision darkened—if she had been standing, she would have fallen—a child. She knew how a mother touched a loved child, how one responded to the other; feelings and actions she never remembered from her own childhood. Heather had a child—cherub faced, soft blonde hair with curls—so much like the curls she often wrapped around her own fingers, so unlike her mother. Heather, the clever woman who could beat Grissom at mental chess, who, by his own admission, had intrigued him, brushed the child's curly hair away from her face and smiled.

The air was stifling, heavy, hard to breathe; Sara stumbled to her feet, to leave this place before she became sick. She had not been seen—Heather was watching the child. Sara retreated into the nearest café, finding the restroom, locking herself into a stall, gulping great breaths of air, trying to think—a child—Grissom would know—he would have told her—if he had known—he would have told her—if he and Heather had—no, the child was older—she had to think.

Why would Heather call her—to see this child? To tell her—not Grissom—he did not know—he would have told her. Think, Sara, she told herself. She leaned against the cool metal panel, willing her pulse to slow, for her mind to process what she saw, to keep tears from falling from her eyes. She sucked in air, trying to make her brain function, trying to remember—and Catherine's words kept repeating "I know he spent the night with her." That was years ago—Sara tasted the sour bitterness in the back of her throat—five, six years ago.

She closed her eyes, breathing, slowly. What she did not know was more important than what she did know—which wasn't much. She wiped her eyes, opened the door, and washed her face. "Shit," she said. No towels, just a hand dryer. She leaned her face into the warm air. Two more deep breaths, a glance in the mirror to see two bright red spots on her cheeks, but nothing else unusual, and she was ready as she placed her dark glasses over her eyes. She had lived through worse days, she decided, and she would do so again.

On her way out, she purchased a large cup of overpriced coffee, double sugar.

Heather had found an empty bench; the little girl was playing. Sara watched as the child ran to the fence twice to say something, running back to swing around a ladder before she placed a foot on the bottom rung and pulled herself up. Heather stood as soon as she saw Sara, a smile on her face. Sara responded with her "spit grin"—the one she used when handling something repulsive.

"Sara, thank you," Heather said. "I hope you don't mind the place."

Neither extended a hand. Sara's right hand held her coffee while her left one kept the strap of her bag clutched tightly.

"It's fine," Sara answered as she kept the grin plastered across her face.

Heather nodded at the playground. "This is one of Alison's favorite places."

"Alison." Sara breathed again. She had said the name.

"How is Grissom?"

_A/N: They've met! Tell us what you think!!! _


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N: **Enjoy this chapter! Rating will change for Chapter 9, keep reading!!_

**An Acquaintance of Two Chapter 8**

Casually, without a hint of guilt or shame or remorse, Heather had asked. Sara stared at the playground, expecting a thunderbolt, or at least a boasting unkind voice. She had not been thinking in terms of the soft voice which asked the question.

"He's fine; he says hello." Sara tried desperately to keep her voice calm and composed, and her eyes glued to the playground.

"He wouldn't know Alison—she's grown so much." Heather said. "Did he tell you? About Alison?"

Sara could no longer trust her voice; she shook her head, frantically trying to control emotions rolling through her brain, her heart, twisting her belly. She swallowed the coffee and had to close her eyes at the sting as the hot liquid hit her throat.

"Are you okay?"

Sara coughed. "Fine."

Heather settled against the bench. "Alison is my daughter's child."

The rest of her words were lost to Sara's ears—her daughter's child, not hers, not hers. For the first time in fifteen minutes, Sara actually felt oxygen going into her lungs. She knew she was breathing; she almost laughed out loud. Not her child. Not her child. Not Grissom's child. Not Grissom's child. How stupid of me, she thought. Sara smiled and looked at Heather.

"Your granddaughter?" Sara had whispered her words with a sigh of relief, the pounding of fists in her head stopped.

Heather nodded. "Did you know about Zoë? She was killed, murdered when Alison was just a baby. Grissom was the one who—he helped me with custody when I had no hope. He's a good man."

Sara leaned back and smiled; how foolish she had been. "He is a good man." Relief made her weak. Reality made her giddy. She almost laughed out loud, '_Prima facie_—on first appearance,' how many times had she used those words in search of additional evidence?

Alison ran to the fence. "Did you see? I climbed to the top! I'm going again!" And she ran back to the plastic fort set in the middle of the playground.

For the first time Sara heard the story of Alison and how she came to live with Heather. Grissom's appearance on her porch one morning changed her life, she said. She went back to college, began a new career which resulted in shared custody. Sara gave a wide grim—genuine—at Heather's career choice.

"I see patients three days a week and have Alison with me for four—her grandfather, Zoë's dad, has her for the other days." Heather said, "We get along better now than we did when we married—age, years and we have nothing to fight about, plus we both think we were given another chance at life with Alison."

The little girl arrived at the bench, smiling shyly at Sara as she wrapped arms around Heather. "Alison, this is Mrs. Grissom."

Sara realized she had not said she was married; Heather had noticed the ring or had other sources.

Alison extended her hand. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Grissom." Sara took the pudgy little hand in hers.

"It's nice to meet you, Alison."

Their hands stayed together as the child asked, "Are you my mommy's friend?"

Sara glanced at Heather. "Yes, yes, you can call us friends." Their hands separated and Alison moved to sit between Sara and Heather, wiggling onto the bench and crossing her ankles in an effort to mimic the two women.

"Do you help people at the clinic?"

"No," Sara shook her head. "I work at another place—where we try to help people."

Heather's hand caressed the child's back. "Sara works for the police, Alison. She's a scientist—she looks at hair and fingerprints."

Alison spread her hands in front of her. "Like the man who came to school and made our fingerprints!" Alison said. "And Jeffery—you know what he did—he put his fingers like this." She pressed her fingertips across her face, "And made black smudges all over his face!" She giggled the high pitched sound made by children her age, laughing at her own story as Sara laughed with her.

Just as quickly as she had arrived, Alison squirmed off the bench and ran back to the play area.

"She's a pretty girl," Sara said.

"Yes, she's the center of my life—I know I was ready to die until she came. That's why I called you—I wanted you to know. Your husband saved me, Sara."

For several minutes, neither said anything as they watched Alison play, her bright colored dress floating around her as she ran from place to place.

"He saved me," Sara spoke the words in a whisper, "He saved me, too." Another minute passed before Sara asked, "Would you let me buy you a coffee?"

For an hour the two women found casual, innocent topics to talk about—changes in Las Vegas over the years, Sara's trip to Costa Rica and return to the crime lab, Alison's school. They did not talk about crime or mention Gil Grissom again. By the time the cups of coffee were finished, Alison had returned, putting herself between the two women, and Sara knew it was time to leave.

"Thank you, Heather." She held out her hand. "I've enjoyed this." Sara turned to Alison, saying, "And it's a pleasure to meet you, Alison" as the adult and child shook hands.

Alison smiled a gapped tooth grin. "I like you. I'm happy you are Mommy's friend."

**_A/N: Rating changes for Chapter 9! Because it has some sweet smut in it! Nothing too graphic--that's not what we write, just to be safe._**


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Long chapter for a Sunday read--enjoy!_

**An Acquaintance of Two Chapter 9**

SSGSSGSSG

Sara entered their home quietly, gently closing the door, and greeting Hank with a hug and a treat. Hank had welcomed them back as if they had been gone for a weekend instead of months. They had treated him as a spoiled child, with extra treats and letting him sleep anywhere he wanted to—mostly on the sofa or their bed.

A glance told her Grissom was working, music played, and his office light reflected his bent head as he sorted through a small box. He had no desire to return to forensics—not on a daily basis—not yet, he said. "I retired." He was writing, collaborating with the researchers from the Costa Rica project, developing a presentation for an upcoming seminar on insects in endangered habitats.

She slipped across the bedroom to his office and leaned against him, her hands sliding from his shoulders to chest, kissing his hair, his ear before he could turn.

"Hey, you're home." His voice was soft, welcoming. He turned and pulled her into the chair with him. She kissed him again framing his face with her hands.

"I love you, Gil."

He grinned. "You met Heather?"

"I did—and Alison." Her hands and arms wrapped around his neck and head, pulling him against her chest. "Come to bed." She felt his smile.

"This is good—maybe you should meet Heather every morning." He mumbled into her shirt.

She laughed quietly. "She's a nice person." She raked her hands through his hair, following with a trail of kisses. "She said you were a good man."

Sara had studied science for as long as she could remember. As a child, she had tried to map every wave on a sandbar, trying to work out the directions of wind and tide as the ocean moved around her feet. Nothing was too trivial to interest her, and her love for this man, known intimately and not at all, was insatiable. She learned him—the gray and silver and brown loops of curls in his hair reminded her of the silvery bark on trees, changing with light hour by hour. His blue eyes were the color of a clear sky, a cerulean blue, the color of an azure sea from a distance that would darken or twinkle indicating a change in his mood. His face was not handsome but clean, strong boned, soften with years, and except for the tiny wrinkles that showed around his eyes, seemingly free of age. As she loved his face, his brain captivated and fascinated her—clear, quick, and sharp. She had known from their first meeting that he would belong to her, he was to love her as she really was, at her best, at her worst—and she would possess him with fierceness absolutism.

Grissom's hands had been busy—pushing her shirt upwards, his fingers finding the hook of her bra. She had to release him to pull the shirt over her head. His lips found her breast, kissing, touching her quickly with his tongue. She stroked his hair, kissed him along his neck and shoulder. She moved from his lap bringing him with her to their bed, losing shoes, shirts, a belt in a trail across the floor.

She thought about telling him what she had assumed until she saw his eyes filled with kindness and hope, understanding and excitement. She needs him more than he will ever need her, yet he loves her, and his smile tells her how much she is desired

Neither said a word; the only sounds were quiet groans, a grunt from Grissom as they fell onto the bed, and the zip of pants being removed. Sara snickered as he tugged at her pants after she had quickly released and removed his.

"I should rip these off," he told her as he tossed them over his head and lower himself to her panties. "I love these." He grabbed the elastic between his teeth as he nuzzled his mouth and nose against her belly.

She knew he loved all her underwear—panty man, she occasionally named him. He did not care what kind or what color; he liked to take them off.

He held her as she moved through his fingers as waves of the water rising around him swimming in a salty sea. Here their hearts beat, their lives had brought them, to this moving, warm ocean. His hands caressed, embraced her, finding the moist welcoming center of feminine desire; his fingers found her sensitive bud as his mouth moved from her belly to her thigh tasting her, moving to hold that sensitive secret with his lips. She gasped. She always did.

"Gil." She tugged his hair. He mumbled something and kept his place. Her legs moved, involuntarily, and his hand lifted her leg, moving it over his shoulder. His tongue worked, quickly, and he groaned as he felt the rising contractions within her. She was lost; her hand knotted his hair. He inhaled the beautiful wet scent of Sara. A probing finger slipped inside her as she clenched, gasped again and tightened her hold of his hair.

She said his name again in a muffled whisper, pulling, grasping his head in her hands. He did not raise his head, but used one hand to gently pry her fist from his hair and clasped it in his. She moaned as she entered into a force of emotions uncontrolled by conscious thought. Her entire body tensed; she had released her grip on his hand and twisted her hands into the sheets, raising her hips to meet him. One hand he kept between her legs, fingers gliding, probing, playing as the other found her breast and the small crown hardened from pleasure. Only then did he move, propelling himself forward until he covered her body with his own, holding her as her breaths came in panting bursts. A moment later, she softened beneath him.

Sara smiled; his weight against her body, the pulsing, hard part of him she felt against her belly—she was loved by this man as much as she loved him.

Her hand closed around his rigid shaft. "This has work to do." He grinned. They rolled together, kissing with an urgency that brought quiet groans from both. She could feel him pressed against her, heavy with desire, making a small wet pool on her belly.

Grissom's hand reached for the small square packet on the bedside table.

"No—not today," she whispered.

"Sure?"

She kissed his throat, his chest, tasting him as she slipped lower, wanting to give the same pleasure as he had given her. He tugged her upward and positioned her so she straddled his thighs and stroked her, watching her face. Just as she thought she could not stand another feathery touch, another caress against her sex, he moved hands to her hips and slipped himself deep inside her. She fell against him, choking on a cry of desire as waves of pleasure rippled through her. She felt his continued thrusts, pausing as he rolled again to be above her, holding her hips against him, moving faster, filling her. She held him as she felt the tension build, a heavy moan escaped from his lungs as he collapsed, kissing her, an arm curved possessively around her.

Some time later, after eyes had closed in drowsy after-sex sleep, they had moved slightly, his leg wrapped across and around hers as she was snug against his thigh, legs separated by his as his hand caressed her thigh and gently meandered along the cleft of her butt, finding that place he had so recently filled.

He was the first to speak when he said, "Sara—why?"

She had nestled against his chest in the warm cocoon made by his arm and shoulder. "I want a baby."

She heard the rumble in his chest before the chuckle actually made a sound. She smiled. He pulled away enough to see her face.

"Sara Sidle—woman of the world, serious researcher, renewed criminalist—no desire for a child, and, now—what has happened?"

She grinned. "Heather—no, Alison. I watched her play. I watched Heather—I want a child—a baby. I want to be a mother." She said in a voice so quiet that a whisper would have been heard as a shout. Her fingers made small circles along his chest. "It was strange—I was jealous of Heather!" She placed a kiss on his chest before he managed to pull her to him. "Something happened when I held her hand—Alison's hand, Gil—when she put her hand in mine, I didn't want to let her go."

"You will make a wonderful mother, Sara."

He had been the one, months ago, after her kidnapping, to initiate a conversation about a child. At the time, he was desperately trying to find a focus for her recovery—it did not work. She refused to talk about having a baby. Only later had he realized how deeply affected she had been by cascading events of which there was no controlling.

"It might take us a while," he whispered.

"Yeah—but we can work on it, see what happens."

"We can—I like that part. We should make an appointment—get a physical—see what we should do."

Her fingers began moving in small circles again. "I—I don't believe I have to have a baby to be a mother—there are other ways—adoption—China, Guatemala, a foster—I don't care. I just want what I saw today."

His hand combed her hair away from her face and kissed her. "Okay."

Sara raised her head to meet his eyes. "You think I'm crazy? Lost my mind—again?"

Grissom quietly laughed, "No—I wished I had taken you to a playground a long time ago."

_A/N: Okay! The smut you waited for--tell us if you liked it! There is a storm coming to our area of the world; we may be without internet access for a day or so, but hang in there--this story will continue for several more chapters with work, Grissom, Heather again, a little Catherine, Greg and Nick--even Brass will show up. So more fun reading coming! Again, thanks for reading!_


	10. Chapter 10

**An Acquaintance of Two Chapter 10**

HKHKHK

That went well, Heather thought, as she buckled Alison into her seat and headed home. Alison chattered in the back seat as little girls do, without a care, as she watched a favorite dancing princess on the small screen in the car.

Heather had heard about Sara's departure from Grissom, how an abduction had torn their world apart, thrown Sara into a state of depression and burn out that spiraled out of control for weeks until she abruptly left her job, her life with Grissom, seeking closure to a past. When Heather has last seen Grissom, he was in his own gloomy, falling-apart despairing depression.

That night, as Sara's video played on the computer screen, she had watched Grissom—watched a man who was seeing the woman he loved say goodbye. She had listened as he tried to explain how Sara had misunderstood his words; changing his explanation as he realized how his words must have sounded. His head bent, his fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed. A sob came from deep within his chest.

Today, she had seen a new person—an animated, excited woman, and a beautiful one; Grissom was a very fortunate man, she thought. Heather had also recognized an undefined emotion in Sara in the beginning. She had seemed inaccessible, confused or bewildered as she sat down—Heather tried to remember the conversation which had brought about a change; she tried to identify when the change in posture, the quick transformation in attitude had happened.

Glancing back at Alison, who was singing a favorite song from the movie, Heather's mind snapped back, trying to recall what was said. Her words to describe the child who played—Sara had instantly adjusted in the subtle unspoken language of her bearing, her position relaxed. No, more than relaxed—she was relieved. Heather frowned; relief about what, she questioned.

Alison's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Mommy, can we go to In and Out? I'm hungry!"

Heather smiled. She never thought she would become a regular customer of In and Out Burgers, but Alison loved the place. She slowed and made a turn. Ordering, eating, watching Alison dip her burger in a mix of mustard and catsup, listening to the child as she jumped from one subject to another, and Heather forgot Sara's initial manner, remembering the meeting as truly genuine and kind with an unexpected empathy.

SSGSSGSSG

Sara's work ethic had not changed with her absence from Las Vegas. Her return to the lab had been greeted with enthusiasm by everyone—with one exception, and Ecklie was filling a vacancy with a warm body who knew how to work. Sara insisted her return was temporary. Nick hugged her every day when she arrived.

"I'm so happy you're back, Sara. It's been like a tomb here since you left."

She knew he really had missed her, but he also missed two people who had been a great part of his life for more than a decade. They easily fell back into their former working relationship, uncomplicated by events from the past, comfortable with each other.

With Greg, it was as if she had been gone for a day, returning to find him working on the same case. His pleas to work with her succeeded as Catherine assigned him to be the 'unofficial' mentor to introduce Sara to cases and new techniques and new people. He enjoyed introducing Sara as "my mentor has returned" to Ray Langston. Within hours, the two were laughing again, pulling Nick and Ray into their circle and even giving Catherine a reason to smile.

Sara and Catherine had reached an understanding with each other years ago—never to be the best of friends, but certainly able to be colleagues. And professional trust; Sara knew Catherine had no boundaries when searching for the truth. Catherine recognized Sara's ability to search for and understand the truth of evidence. Unlike Ecklie, Catherine was pleased to have an investigator with experience in the field, and accepted Sara's temporary return as a respected, knowledgeable member of the team.

Within a few days, Catherine had handed case files to Sara to review and complete paperwork, to organize evidence, to deal with the never-ending requests for information. In two weeks, Sara was in the field, working with Nick, then Greg, gathering evidence as she had done for years, quickly learning how to use new equipment, and a few people learned why one of Greg's favorite sentences was "Sara did it like this."

Grissom left her after three weeks. "I don't have to go," he said as she folded his clothes into a small travel bag.

She grinned. "Yes, you do. You promised—and your presentation is perfect."

He hugged her as he said, "You will be okay?"

"I will—I'm enjoying being back. Really. I told Catherine I'd be in early to go over photographs from last week, but only because you are out of town."

"I'll be back on Thursday."

She placed small bottles in a plastic bag. "Take these out for security, Gil. Hank and I will be fine—just missing you."

In early afternoon, Sara dropped him off at the airport as he promised to call her as soon as he landed in Dallas.

She and Catherine spent an hour looking at large photographs of a body, the crime scene, hoping to find something that would tie a suspect to the death of an old woman.

"If its here, we are not seeing it," Sara said as she examined a shoe print and compared it with a dozen shoes taken from two closets. "This is a huge foot we've got here."

"Sara," Catherine said, "I do appreciate your willingness to return—it really means a lot to all of us."

Sara looked up from the table. "Thank you. I needed to do this—thank you for letting me." She flashed a smile before returning to the photographs.

Catherine said, "Sara, I need to apologize—to say I'm sorry."

Confusion showed in Sara's eyes as she looked up. "For what?"

Catherine's hand nervously played with a pen. "Sara—I know I've been—I know I've said some things—I—I didn't know—about a lot of things…"

"It's okay, Catherine."

They continuing working even as Ecklie walked in, clearing his throat to get their attention.

"Hey, Catherine, Sidle—Grissom—what do I call you?"

"Sara will work," Sara said, dropping her head after she saw Catherine's sly smile.

"We have a situation," he said as he dropped to sit on one of the lab stools, flipping a brown folder from his hand to the table. "Day shift is on a suspicious death at a school—kid is dead. By the time they arrived, the sheriff had already gotten a call—a request for a specific CSI." He put a finger on the file and pushed it toward Sara. "The sheriff said to send you."

"Me?" Sara opened the file finding one piece of paper with an address and brief description of a non-responsive child found at a school. "Why me?"

Ecklie shook his head. "Someone knows you or you would not have been requested. Catherine, send someone with her." He looked at Sara. "You going to be okay with this?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

Catherine waited until he left the room. "Who do you want?"

"Greg." She knew Nick had worked until noon; she had not worked with Ray. "But who would request me?"

"Keep me posted. Call me if you need me—I'll be there in minutes." She looked at the address. "Oh, Sara, this is an old school—private—exclusive—whatever happened is going to make news."

Sara looked grim. "I won't be on the news." She gave a tight smile. "I'll make sure Ecklie gets to talk to reporters." She phoned Greg who promised to meet her at the school as quickly as possible.

_A/N: Thanks so much for reading and for reviewing! Storm passed, kept power, happy Jim Cantore was NOT in our back yard!!_


	11. Chapter 11

**An Acquaintance of Two Chapter 11**

Sara had to use her lights to get through a gathering jam of cars; the end of the school day or news of the death had brought parents to the school. The school was located in an old section of Las Vegas, a neighborhood built for the wealthy, and it appeared to remain a haven for those with money. When Jim Brass met her at the door, her relief showed.

"Hey, Sara—you going to be okay with this one?" He asked as his hand gently took her arm.

She nodded. "Greg is coming. Do you know who asked for me?"

"Some judge called the sheriff; special request for Sara Grissom." He stayed serious, but quietly teased, "You know someone important. Tell your old friend."

She shook her head, "I don't know."

He guided her into a small entrance area where a few women stood, huddled in one corner. The hallway was empty of children, but a dozen police officers stepped aside as the two made their way along the corridor to a large room—an auditorium—and this is where Sara found children.

There were two groups, separated by yellow crime scene tape, of twenty to thirty children. Young children, Sara thought, as she watched. Someone had thought to keep them busy, entertained with paper and crayons. Several adults were seated among the children, quietly talking.

"What's with the tape?" She asked.

"One group was in the room; the others were in classrooms. Most of the parents are waiting in another room—it's a mess." He shook his head. "Little kid, Sara." He pushed open the door to the restroom.

Quickly, Sara surveyed the room; a long typical restroom with low sinks along one wall, several stalls with shorter than usual dividers, a metal bench, high windows, another door, and the detritus of rescue between bench and wall. To her eyes, she saw evidence of frantic actions. Within minutes, Greg arrived, well dressed, serious looking.

As they walked around the room, taking photographs, marking a dozen possible points, bagging anything that might be evidence, Brass explained the situation. The boy had been found by a teacher hanging from a hook with his pants below his knees; she had immediately called another teacher and moved the child to the floor where they both tried CPR. The emergency team arrived within minutes and the child had been taken to a hospital where death had been pronounced.

Brass pointed to the second door. "That goes outside to the play area—EMTs came and went by that door. The teachers said the kid's underwear was stained with urine—that's probably what's on the floor. The boy's shirt was torn away during life-saving efforts."

"What do they think happened?" Sara asked.

"The two teachers are badly shaken—both think it was sexual because of the pants around the ankles. The outside door was not locked. You saw the fence—I could jump over it—so it is possible someone got in and waited for an opportunity." His hand pressed against his forehead. "God, I hate these things."

Greg was going from stall to stall, photographing each one, bagging and tagging anything he found while Sara worked on the door. She looked up from her work.

"Someone has to do this." She walked toward him. "You're good at what you do, Jim." She turned to look at the room. "This is going to take hours. Can we seal the room, see the teachers?"

"Yeah," Brass said as Greg backed out of the last stall.

"Little boys are nasty," Gregg grumbled.

Sara scowled and smirked, "You think it's only little boys, Greg?"

"Now, now, kids." Brass controlled his tone, but it was good to hear and see these two work a scene. "You will never guess who one of the parents is—matter of fact, Sara, that's how you got here."

Sara snapped her kit shut. "A parent? I don't know anyone…"

Brass held his notebook out for her to see. "Heather Kessler. She called her friend, the judge, who called our sheriff." His eyebrows went up. "You were requested." He was whispering, but Greg had moved close enough to hear.

"Lady Heather!" The excitement in Greg's voice was undisguised. "She has a kid?"

_A/N: A short chapter for tonight--did not want to leave anyone thinking Alison was the victim! (And for those who asked--Jim Cantore, of the Weather station, anywhere near your home means really bad weather is heading in your direction!! )_

_Enjoy!!_


	12. Chapter 12

**An Acquaintance of Two Chapter 12**

This time, Sara's expression was one of annoyance slightly covered by her own recollection of meeting Heather. "Alison—her granddaughter." She leaned toward Greg, causing Brass to do the same. "She no longer has Lady Heather's Dominion, Greg. She's a psychologist—works in a clinic. Maybe you should make an appointment?"

The privacy created by the closeness of their faces caused all three to smile at her words. Brass knew not to ask how she knew this.

But Greg didn't. "How do you know? Did Grissom tell you? I want to meet her."

"Behave and maybe you will." Sara picked up her case leaving the two men looking at each other. At least one question had been answered.

When she walked into the large open space, most of the children in one group had disappeared. More uniforms had shown up, several detectives were interviewing children and parents around tables set up for small children. Suddenly, a small arm waved and the child stood up. She recognized Alison just as Heather turned.

The child's voice carried across the room. "She came, Mommy! There she is—I told you she would come!"

To Sara, it seemed every head in the area turned in her direction then turned toward the child's voice. Heather had also turned in Sara's direction, and just as quickly as the words were heard, Alison jumped from her seat, scooted between chairs, tables, and people, running to Sara. Her arms wrapped around Sara's legs in such haste and with such fury that Sara momentarily rocked backward. Automatically, her hand went around Alison's head and she knelt to the floor.

"Hello, Alison. I didn't know this was your school. Did you really ask for me to come?" Sara knew Greg and Brass had stopped behind her; Heather was walking toward them, followed by a young detective who had been talking to her.

"I did—my mommy was here for the puppets, too, when Jacob went in the bathroom and we know something happened because the police came and then you came. Jacob is always doing bad stuff—I'll bet the police are going to take him away." She had talked so rapidly that she had to stop to take a breath, and placed her arm around Sara's neck just as Heather arrived.

Sara bit her lip to keep from smiling. She knew Brass did not like Heather from his comments in the past and Greg would be wide eyed as he watched the mysterious woman of so much gossip walk gracefully to meet them. That Heather was dressed in appropriate clothes for an afternoon in a school did nothing to dissuade the eyes that followed her casual walk.

"Hello, Sara." Heather extended her hand and Sara stood to take it. "I hope you don't mind the request."

"No, no, not at all."

"Captain Brass—we meet again," Heather said as she shook his hand and turned to Greg.

"Greg—Greg Sanders," he said. Sara compressed her lips together to keep her smile hidden. Greg looked very professional, she thought.

As if it were planned, two women appeared with snacks for the remaining children and Alison's interest turned to juice and cookies. Heather nodded as her daughter danced around the adults, forgetting for a minute the disruption of a school day. Half way across the room, Alison ran back to the adults.

"Can you sit with us for snack time? Please?" She tugged at Sara's hand.

Before Sara could answer, Heather spoke, "Alison, Mrs. Grissom has work to do—remember she works with the police."

"I'll see you before you leave—promise." Sara said.

They were quickly given what little information was known by the detective. Heather knew the little boy by name, unable to add more than basic information but Sara decided to talk with parents, and by their presence, their children, as Brass and Gregg headed to interview the teachers who found the child.

Soon Sara was surrounded by parents who asked a dozen questions for which she had no answers—yet. She was polite, elusive, giving the answers always given in these circumstances. The children were easier. They readily talked about Jacob—without knowing he would not return to school. Sara left that to be explained by others. And what she heard seemed to be unrelated to what happened in the bathroom.

The boys said Jacob was tough, but kept them laughing with his jokes and pranks. The teacher had him sit near her desk but he would flick spitballs at others when the teacher wasn't looking. Several of them boasted that Jacob was their best friend, giggling as they told another story of his mischief—bringing a small frog into the classroom last week causing a major disruption as he let it go during math.

From the girls, she heard a different story. Jacob was always in trouble and fighting or interrupting class. He particularly did not like reading and often made up words to make everyone laugh. During the puppet play, he had repeatedly asked to go to the bathroom until the teacher had said he could go.

"And he never came back!" A dark-eyed little girl said. "We know he did something bad because then the police came!"

Excitement in kids and parents had faded into impatience as the hours had passed and, as everyone's names were known and no new information seemed to be forthcoming, they were allowed to leave. Heather and Alison were among the last with Alison declaring Sara was now "a best friend".

The processing began. Fingerprints, shoe print, fluids, dirt, paper towels, bits and pieces of everything that can be picked up and carried by school children into a restroom were lifted, bagged; Nick arrived late in the day. Gawkers, news reporters, more police officers arrived as the death was reported. At some point, Sara got a call from Grissom, happily caught up in another world, and hours later the three hauled everything back to the lab.

_A/N: Thanks for reading!_


	13. Chapter 13

**An Acquaintance of Two Chapter 13**

"I think I can sleep standing up," Sara said after the last bag of evidence had been carried in. "I need a cat nap before I can go on." Nick and Greg knew she could sleep instantly, waking up just as quickly.

Her desire for sleep was postponed after learning Doc Robbins had the boy's body and Catherine joined the three as they headed to the coroner's table. Each one deciding the others needed support, the security of having a companion as Doc explain what he had found.

The four stood around Doc Robbins and the small, white covered form, so small it took up less than half the length of the table. They had heard about Jacob but none had seen the child. As the sheet was pushed aside, Sara's first thought was how much he looked like a young Greg—only short, with spiked, brown hair, slim in build.

Dr. Robbins pointed to the pinpoint hemorrhages, petechiae, in each eye, fingernail marks on the neck—probably his own as he struggled for a few seconds—and the ligature mark along the neck which rose toward each ear. "Hanging or strangulation—it's a minor distinguishing factor right now," he explained. "Pressure on his jugular backed up blood resulting in unconsciousness, depressed respiration and asphyxia. Pressure does not have to be heavy, just prolonged. Less than two to three minutes and he was unconscious."

Greg pointed to abrasions around the mouth. "What's this?"

"Looks like an oxygen mask during resuscitation efforts. There is some damage to the mouth and airway, but not from the ligature."

Sara said, "We have his shirt—it was cut away during CPR—but nothing probative was found. The teachers said he was hanging by his shirt."

"That would fit. The human neck is very vulnerable to injury—small diameter, lack of protection by bones or muscles. His weight suspended from a hook would be enough to do it." Doc Robbins uncovered the rest of his body. "There is no evidence of semen, assault or deep bruising, a few scrapes, probably normal for a boy this age." He picked up his notes. "Not sure why his pants were around his ankles." He looked over his glasses at the four pairs of eyes watching him. "That's for you."

…Sara and Greg sat across the table from each other passing evidence back and forth, pushing most of it to one side. Nick had slipped away for nap disappearing into one of the dark, less visited corners of the lab just as Sara had done hours earlier. Outside, the sun had risen on another day; news reporters continued to speculate on the death of the child in one of Las Vegas' most exclusive schools, and Sara, Greg and Nick continued working on evidence. Yet nothing was certain.

"There is something we are missing, Greg." Sara said. She had written a timeline on one board. Fingerprint reports had cleared all the teachers and parents who had been at the school at the time. Greg had searched for Heather's fingerprints until Sara playfully slapped his hand. "Get over it."

He had sniggered saying Heather could be the main character in his next book.

Sara opened the bag holding the boy's pants, unfolding the beige fabric and spreading them out on the table. His belt came next. She buckled the belt at the worn marking and placed it with the pants. "Greg, why do you wear a belt?"

"I don't—except when my pants are too big."

"Look at this." She gathered the pants with one hand. "Jacob was skinny—his pants would have been baggy."

Greg stood up, stretched his arms above his head. "My pants would fall down if I wiggled—struggled." He grinned. "Wanna see?"

Sara shook her head and reached for the child's shirt. "Calm down, hot stuff. What if his pants did fall down as he struggled, caught on that hook. Where's the hook?"

They had removed the coat hooks from the wall in the restroom and Greg held up one of them. It was an old, heavy hook. Sara had the shirt in her hand. "Look at this." She ran a finger under a loop on the back of the shirt. "This was holding him on the hook."

Greg followed her demonstration. He said, "But how did he get on the hook? We haven't found any evidence of another person—or we've found so much from all the kids in the bathroom that none of it is any good."

"Is the school closed today?" She asked.

"I think so."

"Remember the time Grissom put the dummy on you with all those weights? Until you couldn't move?"

"I remember Grissom had help," he said, pointing to Sara.

She grinned. "We need to do that."

"Smash me like a gummy worm? Oh, strangle me? I don't think so!"

She elbowed him. "No, you're too valuable now. But we need weights, a hook on the wall and little boy clothes."

They woke Nick from his nap, and, in a few hours, with all three working, had their child-size dummy hanging from the hook Nick had bolted into the garage wall. The loop held the weight but the pants did not slide.

Greg looked above their heads at the exposed beams. He stretched his arms upward but the beam was above his hands by several feet. Nick and Sara realized what he was doing when he reached for a ladder.

"You are nuts, man!" Came from Nick.

"I can't look," laughed Sara as Greg climbed the ladder, grabbed a cross-beam and dangled from it, moving his legs in scissor kicks several feet from the floor.

Without warning, Catherine and Ecklie appeared at the door.

_A/N: Thanks for reading---_


	14. Chapter 14

**An Acquaintance of Two Chapter 14**

In less than the time it takes to ask what was going on, Greg's jeans slid from his hips to his knees exposing a pair of bright white boxers. Sara and Catherine bent double, hands over mouths to suppress the laughter shaking their entire body. But their actions did not conceal the sounds either woman made as Ecklie smirked and shook his head.

Nick, looking at Ecklie, who failed to find humor in Greg's demonstration, moved the ladder to Greg's feet. He said, "That's enough, big guy. And I refuse to pull your pants up!" He turned to face the wall, his shoulders shaking as he did so.

Ecklie turned on his heel and left the garage as Greg hooked a foot on the ladder before he released the beam.

"My pants are not nearly as loose as Jacob's were." He said as he jumped to the floor and pulled his pants up.

…Around the table, they had raised a dozen scenarios, involving another person or the boy acting alone or another child.

"Nothing—no one puts another person in that room when Jacob was there. Of course, there's always the possibility that an unknown left no evidence, or left something we think belongs to one of the children." Catherine said as she flipped pages of reports. "The news is wild with speculation. Ecklie has already announced that none of the teachers are suspects."

Sara thumbed her notes. "The children said Jacob was always playing pranks. Are these children old enough—is—was Jacob old enough to try to scare the others by pretending to hang himself?"

Everyone was quiet as they thought about her explanation.

She continued, "I think we need to talk to the boys again. They would be able to tell us more about Jacob." She glanced at the clock. "I need some sleep. Does anyone know if the kids will return tomorrow?"

Catherine teased, "You're the lead on this one, Sara. Call your contact." She gave a smile to everyone, "but sleep first. No one is awake in the middle of the night."

…Sara knew one person would be awake, or he would be as soon as he heard his phone ring.

"Hey." The huskiness of his voice told her he had been asleep.

"I miss you," she said.

"Next time, you are coming with me."

The sound she made was one for his ears only, one of seduction, a persuading sound of laughter that made him hold his phone tighter. "I miss you being here with me—especially right now." She laughed again, that purring sound reaching into his chest and twisting his heart. "How are you?" He asked, "How's the case?" He knew she was working the death of a child and he heard her sigh.

"We think it was an accident," and she told what they had found, their experiment with the dummy and Greg's demonstration.

"His pants came off!" Grissom laughed. "Why am I not surprised? And Ecklie was there—I wish I could have seen his face!"

"He was not amused. He probably thinks I instigated Greg!" Sara told him she planned to talk to the boys who knew Jacob. "They said he loved pulling pranks, and I think this was a prank that went terribly wrong."

"You'll do fine, Sara. Just ask your questions and let them talk."

"Gris…" lately, she rarely called him by the shortened moniker that had started as an affectionate work name, "how do you keep them safe?" Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper.

He had no answer, saying "You work on it every day, Sara."

She listened to him breathe. "Yeah. Hurry home, Gil. I miss you."

"I'll read for awhile—put you to sleep."

Sara smiled; he knew the sound of his voice was a lullaby to her ears. "What are you reading?" She asked, and when he said the name of the book, she smiled again. It was a favorite of both.

By nine o'clock, Sara had contacted the school principal who promised to have several of Jacob's friends and their parents at school before lunch. She wanted a closure to the death of the first child to die at the school; parents wanted answers.

Sara and Greg drove through the neighborhood surrounding the school; a neighborhood of old homes built of brick and stucco with stone trim and the largest trees in Las Vegas. The lawns and sidewalks were well tended, perhaps not as lush as they once were, but much more manicured than new subdivisions with their cactus and stone and gravel yards.

"Lady Heather lives in this area, you know," Greg said with a grin.

"Just Heather," Sara responded.

He replied with a smug grin, "She'll always be 'Lady Heather' to me—especially when I get to know her—especially when I write my book."

Sara giggled. "Tell me, Mr. Sanders, how are you going to get to know Heather?"

Greg's glance at her gave him more confidence. He cleared his throat before saying, "I figure with a certain person out of the competition, I stand a very good chance. She'll love me when she knows me."

Sara's giggle turned to laughter. "Give it up, Greg! I think Heather is busy raising a daughter."

"But Sara," he protested. "Just think of what she knows—what she could tell me! I could disguise most of her story. Write a best seller."

She rolled her eyes. "For now, we want these kids to talk. You can come back and stalk Heather another time."

The boys talked more than either expected. Obviously, Jacob was a leader in joke telling, mischief, and pranks. Each boy joined in telling of a trick, a joke, a stunt about Jacob that had disrupted school.

Greg asked, "What tricks did you do in the bathroom? Or what did Jacob do?"

The boys looked at each other, glancing at parents. They knew Jacob had died, perhaps not sure how, even where, but they knew he would not return to school. Several parents offered encouraging words for them to help the police.

Finally, one said, "We played swinging on the doors."

"Tell us about swinging on the doors," Sara said.

The children told their story of jumping from bench to stall doors, hanging on to the top edge of the door as it swung open. Greg and Sara looked at each other, realizing the act the boys were describing had probably killed Jacob when the loop on his shirt caught on the wall hook. If he had attempted to slide out of the shirt, he would have lived, but in confusion, in the seconds before his kid-sized jugular was compressed, he had struggled, pulling at the shirt and scratching his neck.

There was no one else in the bathroom; no attempted assault, no sexual predator, no guilty party, just a kid being a kid.

Sara and Greg stayed with the children for another hour, showing them how they lifted a fingerprint using bright colored dust, letting them swab a cheek just for fun and laughter, and because the two adults needed something else to do other than remember the death of a child.

_A/N: Thanks for reading--long chapter now. It may be 2 days before the next chapter is ready! But keep reading!!_


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N: Got this chapter ready and posted earlier than expected! Enjoy--leave a review if you can!_

**An Acquaintance of Two Chapter 15**

…Music played as Sara checked the lock on the front door, added water to Hank's bowl, and poured herself a glass of wine. Hot water was filling the tub as she wiped invisible smudges from the glass and headed to the bathroom. She wanted to forget the heartbreak of Jacob's death, the anguish of parents realizing their children were no longer innocents in a safe world.

The sheriff, Ecklie, Greg, Sara and a dozen other people had spent the day at the school as children and parents returned to hear the cause and details of the accidental death. Several child counselors and psychologists had been there to talk with the children who did not know—had no understanding of what the death of a classmate meant. Heather and Alison had been there, sought her out for a few minutes with Heather expressing her appreciation to Sara in a very gracious, discreet way. Even Greg got to talk with Heather for a few minutes; Sara noticed he was dressed in his court suit looking very serious.

She poured a generous amount of bath oil into the water; she would have to scrub the tub afterwards, but tonight, she wanted something to sooth and cling to her skin. As she undressed, she caught herself folding clothes she knew were ready for the laundry and recognized it as a warning sign—a fracture in her sanity. She knocked the dirty clothes to the floor, kicked them out the door, and left them in a tangle, refusing to follow that path.

Wine in hand, she stepped into the tub intent on soaking away the tensions of the past two days. Slowly the hot water and sips of wine quieted her thoughts and gave her peace of mind, lulling her into a state between wakefulness and sleep. The ringing phone jolted her upright. Grissom—she used a Joan Osborne song "His eyes are a blue million miles" for his calls and smiled. Her hand reached out, hitting the wine glass knocking it to the tile floor where it smashed into wall-to-wall shards. "Shit."

The spilled wine looked like a pool of blood.

Her phone went to voice mail. She hit speed dial and settled back into the tub. He answered immediately.

"I'm on the plane," he said without saying hello. Fifteen minutes earlier he had called to say bad weather was delaying the flight.

"What about the weather?"

"Storming—can you check the weather here?"

"I'm in the tub." She decided not to tell him the floor was covered with glass or she was sort of stranded without shoes.

He chuckled, the soft rumble she loved to hear. "Stay there, dear. Maybe this storm will pass quickly and I won't be too late. I'll take a cab home."

"I can pick you up—I'll be awake."

"I'd rather have you waiting at home."

She knew he smiled. "Okay."

"Sara, sleep if you can. I know it has been tough."

"Okay." She placed the phone on the edge of the tub and stretched out. She had time to soak, to clean up the floor, and to do a few other things before he landed—and maybe grab a nap.

She devised a plan to get out of the tub. Using her towel, then the toilet seat and the countertop as stepping stones or hand holds, she managed to make a giant leap out the door to the bedroom. One heel touched the floor and instantly, sharp pain shot up her leg. "Damn." She tried hopping on one foot, but tangled in her pile of dirty clothes and fell, but not before she lunged toward a table where a lamp crashed to the floor with her.

A minute later, she found herself holding a hand to a rising bump on her head, swearing at the trail of blood that dripped from her heel, only to see another red track oozing from her palm. And she was naked. At least Grissom had not been here to see the scrambling pratfall of her own making, she thought.

Hank watched from the bed. "You're no help—it looks like I've been in a fight," she said.

She pulled her panties from the pile of clothing and used the fabric to carefully wipe her heel and hand. She found a small triangle of glass embedded in the flesh and gently pulled. Blood trickled again. She sat on the floor, applying pressure to the tiny wound until bleeding stopped. The cut on her palm was longer, but not as deep and clotted over much quicker.

This was a mess of her own making, she thought. She limped to her closet and found a sleeping shirt—she grabbed the door frame and left a bloody smear along the edge. Her head hurt and she glanced in the mirror to see a goose egg shaped bump swelling over her eyebrow. Another swear word and she pulled the shirt over her head.

To no one but the dog and her own ears, she said "I wanted to look good and this is what I get." She looked at Hank. "And I can't even get a bandage before I clean up the mess." She found socks, wrapped one around her foot and the other around her hand and stretched out on the bed. Hank gave her a satisfied grunt as she patted his head. "I need just a short nap and then I'll clean up." Her eyes closed.

_A/N: Thanks for reading!_


	16. Chapter 16

**An Acquaintance of Two Chapter 16**

GGGGGG

Gil Grissom had a life he could not have imagined a year ago. The plane had lifted off during a break in thunder storms; he had pulled the shade down, stuffed a pillow between his head and the side of the plane and tried to sleep. But he did not sleep—his body's clock was too firmly set for the night shift and even a couple of days at a conference did not shift his sleeping pattern by much.

The death of Warrick last year had put everyone in a state of shock and served as the push he needed to leave the lab—to officially retire. Of course, he knew the reason he left was Sara. He needed her—she had no idea how much he needed the security of her presence, to be able to touch her, to hear her voice, to love her. He smiled in the darkness of the airplane. She knew, he thought.

He had not been surprised when she made the decision to return to Las Vegas and the lab. She wanted life to be organized and logical, forgiving and compassionate—the scientist in her brain called for systematic order to things. Her soul was generous and kind. He knew much of her past had not been this way and she had tried too hard to make sense of the chaotic mess—the ghosts of her past, she called them. Guilt plagued her for what she thought she could have done; hours of therapy had helped her realize that events of the past can not be changed.

When the request came from Ecklie, she had seen it as a way to rectify a past mistake. She was stronger, she was confident in her abilities, in better physical shape than she had been in years. And, secretly he thought marriage worked for her—for both, he admitted. It was security they craved without voicing the need. This trip had been their first physical separation in months and his lack of sleep was due more to the loneliness of his bed than the change in time. He checked his watch; another hour before he was home.

…He heard music as he opened the door; lights were on but there was no one in the living room or kitchen. Quietly, he crossed the floor to the bedroom.

The first thing he saw was the lamp on the floor casting its light on the wall from its side lying position. He looked at the bed—the dog lifted his head but his wife remained stretched across the bed, an odd white cloth wrapped around Sara's hand. He glanced down at the floor at the clothes scattered there. His eyes found her panties spotted with red. Quickly, he picked them up, and in the process, glanced into the bathroom.

He did a double-take seeing the pool of dark liquid on the floor—his eye caught a stained towel. He was across the room to the bed in seconds.

"Sara," his voice was louder, harsher than he wanted, but rising panic had taken over. Something had happened—his hands reached her. "Sara," he whispered.

She woke in that slow moving, drowsy way of waking when she was over-tired. "Gil," she smiled.

He brushed her hair away from her face, fingers touching the bump causing her to flinch. She frowned. "I bumped my head." Her eyes opened to find his concerned face inches from hers.

"What happened? Did you fall?" His hand cradled her head as his finger gently grazed the blue-tinged swelling.

"Yeah," she said as she pushed herself up. "Oh, I slept to long—you're home—I'm a mess. The bathroom's a mess."

He could see she was okay—no explanation for the sock wrapped around her hand, or the one tied around her foot. "Honey, what happened?" He kissed her then, knowing she was safe; the dark pool on the floor was not blood, and the bloody panties—he could only guess.

His kiss moved from her forehead to her nose to her lips, both seeking the other in postponed pleasure and joy. Only when her sock wrapped hand touched his face did he break from her.

"The sock—what's with the sock?"

Sara laughed. "I had an accident with the wine glass."

The liquid on the floor explained, he thought.

"Then, I had to get out of the tub with broken glass all over the floor." She pulled her foot upwards. "Then I stepped on a tiny piece and cut my foot—and grabbed the table."

The lamp. He pinched his nose to hide his grin.

"Then I fell and bumped my head and cut my hand." She held up her hand. "My panties were the closest thing—I didn't want to bleed all over the rug—and I didn't have my shoes on and the box of bandages is in the bathroom, so I used a sock."

He had dropped his head and bit his lip to keep from laughing.

"I thought a short nap—I'd wake up and get things cleaned up and be ready for you." She realized he was stifling a laugh. "What's so funny?" She asked as she watched his face.

Grissom shook his head, "Are you okay?" His look of amusement no longer hidden.

"No," she said. "I wanted to welcome you home—smelling good, with candles and food and—you know what I mean."

His hand had found her thigh, stroking lightly as he moved his fingers upward. He leaned forward and kissed her again, quickly, lightly. "Do not move."

He disappeared, the dog following, returning in a few minutes with broom and dustpan. In short order, he swept glass into the trash, placed a band-aid across her heel and another on her palm, brought water and juice to the bedside, and closed Hank out of the bedroom. All the time, he talked—gently asking questions about her case, chuckling again as he heard about Greg's demonstration, telling her about the conference, his flight, how much he missed her.

Finally, he settled beside her in bed. She snuggled, he nuzzled against her neck. "This is the perfect welcome home." She giggled.

"I have more news," she whispered. "I gave Ecklie and Catherine my official notice."

"You did?"

"I did. I missed you as much as you missed me. Next time you travel, I'm going with you."

He made a satisfied sound. "What if I told you we might settle down for a few months—a semester?"

She raised her head, framing their faces with her dark hair. "News?"

"Mmmmm—yes," but he never finished his sentence as she kissed him, deeply, parting her lips to pull him in. He responded.

_A/N: We are leaving for the weekend--next chapter on Sunday (sorry!) With 2 or 3 chapters left to finish this one--enjoy! _


	17. Chapter 17

**An Acquaintance of Two Chapter 17**

SSG&GG

His mouth moved with soft, open kisses against her skin, touching her chin, her lips, below her ear, in those sensitive places often forgotten by a hurried lover. She moved to make it easier for him to find those secret spots and kissed him from neck to shoulder, slowly, patiently, lingering as he did the same. Gently, his knee pushed between her thighs, spreading her legs, just as his lips found hers, his tongue separating hers as his knee had her legs. One hand slipped to her back, pulling her closer, tighter. The other hand cupped a breast, his thumb stroking the nipple as his little finger tenderly stroked along the line where her breast swelled from her chest. She shivered.

His hard sex pressed against her belly. "Are you sure?" He had asked the same question for weeks.

She nodded, saying "Yes" in a whisper.

His eyes softened. He took her face in his hands and pressed his lips to hers, whispering her name.

Desire overcame fatigue as lips and fingertips found erotic places along his neck, the inside of her wrist, his nipple, her thigh. Her readiness for him was apparent as her back arched and warm waves swept over her, yet he slowed as his hand moved between her legs. His own breath came in waves of warmth when he fingered her sex stroking back and forth before changing to gentle circles. She moaned his name as he inserted one finger, then a second one. Her wetness moistened his hand as he touched and circled inside her.

"Look at me," he whispered as he felt her tighten against his fingers, knowing that she was seconds away from conscious thought and action. Her eyes opened for him to see black pools of desire. Her hand pulled at his arm and he moved, quickly and smoothly, to enter her knowing the rhythmic waves of her orgasm would bring his own climax. The tightness, the moist warmth, the explosion of passion, and he was gone—delirious, sinking into a silky fluid of senses that blocked out everything else. This woman—his wife—his Sara was all he wanted for the rest of his life.

Sara held him as he collapsed against her, his head resting against her neck. She loved this man more than life. His fit against her body was a destiny she had known for a decade and as her fingers combed through his hair, she smiled as she thought of the long, sometime torturous path it had taken for them to get to this point. He had read her own thoughts when he told her one night that home was wherever she was—not a house, not a street address, or a town.

"I love you, Gil."

He smiled against her neck. "Sara, you are the true love of my life—my one and only." He laughed quietly. "How many times have I said those words?"

"Not enough." The sound she made was the seductive sound he loved, something between a sigh and a giggle.

He crooked his elbow and propped his head above hers, taking her hand in his. "You know I love you—I need you every day. Not just for this, but to make life complete." He played with her hand. "We can stay in Vegas for now if you want to—the university has a grant—they've offered me the research position."

Sara's hand caressed his cheek with a tender touch. "I'll be happy with you—it doesn't matter where we are."

He stumbled with his words, dropping his eyes, as he tried to form his thoughts.

"What is it, Gil? What are you thinking?"

"I want you to be happy—and I'll do whatever it takes—you know that." He was quiet for a long minute. His eyes looked upward. "I'm old, Sara. I—I may not be capable of—you are healthy—younger."

Suddenly, she knew what he was trying to say. For all his prowess and competence during the sexual act, for all the meticulous attentions he paid to certain aspects of their intimacy, he was unable to state the obvious of their fecundity attempts.

"Gil, I don't have to have a baby," she stressed the word 'have'. "I want to experience parenthood, be a mother. I was us to be parents to a child, not just Hank." She laughed quietly. "I don't think we will be able to leave a child with Doc Robbins for months and months." She lifted her head to kiss him. "I'm not exactly in first blush of fertility myself."

He opened her palm and kissed the recent cut. "No more wine for a while. Let's see what happens. You mothered Greg for years." He fell back against her shoulder with a grin. "I would get so annoyed with you two. You would play with him, stick up for him, and I wanted to be the one—the only one—your favorite."

She giggled. "Liar. You didn't want to play with me then—you didn't want me to play with anyone."

"Especially Greg." His voice changed to a thoughtful tone. "Will I feel that way about a baby?"

Sara said, "I don't think so—it's different with a baby, a child, I would think." She rolled this time, rearranging so she was above him. "I think we should visit with Heather and Alison again. Both of us. She loves that little girl in such a wonderful way—but the miracle is how Alison loves her. You can see what I want to have—I don't believe in many miracles, but that's one."

A week later, Sara and Grissom met Heather and Alison. Grissom watched as Heather and Sara talked—he knew they would find it easy. He followed Alison around the playground as she explained all the working of a fort in one corner and a pirate ship in another. She showed him peepholes and a secret talking tube that carried whispers to the top of the ship. She did flips on a bar and climbed a ladder to a lookout tower and sat on a swing giggling as she shouted "higher" as he pushed her. Finally, he bribed her with an offer of ice cream so they could join Sara and Heather. It was a good afternoon for all four.

_A/N: Two more chapters to finish this one! Hope you enjoyed it!! Thanks for reading!_


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N**_: Sorry to post so late! We combined the last two chapters into one long one. Please enjoy!_

**An Acquaintance of Two Chapter 18**

_A year later…_

HKHKHK

Heather carried a brightly colored gift bag in her hand as Alison ran ahead of her to meet the waiting man who's infectious smile was all the welcome the child needed as a greeting. Alison had decided months ago that she would marry him and they would live together in a house in the mountains. Hiding a sigh behind her smile, Heather knew this was a dream of too many children in single parent households. No matter how adults tried to work out differences, make life normal, children wanted everyone they loved to live together.

Greg was almost the age of Alison's mother, if she had lived, and in another place, the friendship that had developed between Heather, Greg, and Alison would have seemed out of place. But not much in Vegas was normal or typical. He had invited her to lunch a year ago, including Alison in his invitation, and she had accepted, out of curiosity, or because she had so few invitations, she had never been sure. He had been polite, gracious, and funny as he talked with her and entertained Alison.

By their third meeting, she knew there was a motive to his continued invitations, and it wasn't romance or sexual or her therapy work—it was about history. He had given her a copy of his book as he had explained a developing idea for another one. She had agreed to read anything he wrote about the hidden, yet legal, business of providing certain diversions in the bacchanal environment of Las Vegas, but she would not tell him the secrets of her previous profession. He had to learn that business from others.

Today, Greg was not the only one here. Sara and Gil Grissom were having a party, a celebration with friends. Grissom had already opened the door for Greg, and Alison joined the two men as they waited for her. Greg's and Alison's attentions were on the reason for the gathering.

GGGGGG

Everything had been ready for hours yet Catherine and Sara continued working in the kitchen, laughing at Nick's joke or Jim's story. He had checked the bedroom and found Kate awake, her chubby arms reaching out for him.

"Hey, baby! You're awake!"

The dark haired little girl laughed and danced in her bed before he picked her up in a two arm hug. She giggled again when he nuzzled her neck.

"We are having a party for you," he said. "And your mom says you need to wear a dress." But when she began to wiggle and her smile changed to a frown as he placed her back into the crib, he changed his mind. "Ahh—you look fine, don't you." He smoothed the one-piece romper she wore and picked her up again. The laughter returned.

Kate had come into their lives six months ago as a foster child. Found abandoned at a fire station in a dirty blanket, so malnourished she barely cried, so small and unresponsive that no one expected her to live. But she did and a few weeks later, they received a call saying an infant needed a temporary home.

No one, the doctors, the nurses, the social workers, expected the little baby to develop normally after she lived. The nurses named her Kate because they had gotten to the letter K in naming abandoned infants this year. Sara said she—they—would take her home—their first after qualifying as foster parents. For ten days, they rocked, fed, and slept with an infant who appeared to be three or four months old, but was probably nine to twelve months old. The baby rarely complained, just looked at them with sad, frightened eyes. Neither Sara nor Grissom knew much about a baby, but, as all new parents, they learned.

Near the end of their third week with Kate, Sara woke to find the baby snuggled next to Grissom's side. When she moved the infant, dark eyes opened and a smile appeared on her lips. Grissom still remembered Sara's squeal. "She smiled! She smiled!" Of course, everyone said it was gas, but Sara believed it was a sign of good things.

Not long after that day, Heather Kessler showed up and became a life saver, a guardian angel, a person with knowledge of caring for a child and about adoption. Her own experience with Alison proved to be valuable as Grissom and Sara patiently made rounds of experts—physicians, attorneys, social workers, and agency after agency in search of answers for the child in their home.

The answers were often vague, ambiguous, or elusive. But as weeks passed, one fact was obvious—no one was coming forward to claim this baby and the list of parents willing to adopt a multi-racial, developmental delayed, probable drug exposed baby was short. The Grissoms took the next step and filed paperwork for adoption. For Sara, there were other important accomplishments—Kate grew rapidly and with each week, she seemed to reach a milestone. Four teeth erupted in a month. She crawled one week, pulled up the next, and took her first steps with a swiftness that made the child experts begin to doubt their previous predictions.

Every day, Sara read about child development; she talked, sang childhood nursery rhymes, and held Kate as the child's eyes followed her. Everyone but Grissom was surprised at Sara's ability to be a mother; he knew she had a powerful compassionate, nurturing instinct. Grissom's experience with Hank proved to be well placed in caring for a child—feed her, change her, walk her, and keep her close.

Grissom thought a miracle occurred when the little girl said "Da-da," very clearly as she crawled across the bed to him one morning. Of course, he knew Sara had been saying the word to her for weeks, but Kate did not use the word for anyone but him. It seemed her vocabulary exploded overnight and her favorite word was "that" as she pointed to something, wanting an explanation.

"Today is your birthday, sweet baby Kate," he said as he hurried to the door bypassing Sara and Catherine who were deep into discussing some girl topic and Nick and Brass had disappeared to the small back yard.

SSGSSGSSG

Sara's watchful eyes saw Grissom slip from the bedroom to the front door. And she noticed he had not changed Kate from the romper she had worn all morning. It wasn't important, she decided. Everyone was excited about other things today. She turned back to Catherine's questions, but before she could answer, Greg appeared with Alison and Heather. Catherine's attention redirected to the newcomers.

Sara moved into the bedroom to change her own shirt and in the process picked up the baby's dress she had put out for Kate. Catherine was Kate's shopping guru arriving every week with frilly pastel dresses, gowns, and rompers. This was one Catherine had brought over four months ago, pink with tiny bows and ruffled edges—and Sara smiled at the memory of what else had happened that afternoon.

…Catherine and Lindsay had arrived with bags and packages of baby things and Catherine quickly realized that Sara and Grissom had not slept much for days. Cat naps between feedings had written exhaustion across faces and put dark circles underneath their eyes.

"Give me your keys and where are the bottles?" Catherine asked. In minutes, Kate was packed in her car seat and driven away with orders to sleep.

They did sleep, but in the process, something else happened. Frequent feedings, doctor and attorney appointments, social workers visiting had filled every waking hour and sleep came rapidly and ended too quickly. More than sleep, the couple sought passion—and that day, because it would be days before they had sex again—something else happened deep within Sara's body—a natural process the best physicians in Las Vegas had predicted was not likely to happen.

By the time they knew they could adopt Kate, Sara knew she was pregnant. Now the dark haired, olive skinned little girl would have a sibling. And on her official first birthday, Sara had another announcement.

Quietly, Grissom's hand circled her belly. "Hey, the party's in the other room." He noticed the pink dress. "I—I didn't—she was ready to be picked up."

Sara laughed. "That's fine. No one cares what she is wearing." She had turned to fully embrace him, already finding a way to hug him closely even as her waistline expanded. "We've got a busy time coming up." Right now, she found it hard to imagine how time would expand to include another baby, but knew it would as it did for others.

"Are you sure you want to do this? We could wait, surprise everyone," he said.

She laughed. "Everyone should know. We can celebrate Kate's official arrival and announce the future," She kissed him. "After we spent hours getting everything just right, of course I do."

Noise from the other room came in high pitched squeals and giggles. "Greg" they both said at once.

Food, multiple conversations going in four directions, laughter as a toddler opened gifts assisted by a little girl and adults playing with a clacking duck, a musical cube, or a laughing monkey became a party before Sara brought out cupcakes for everyone and tapped her glass for attention.

"Thank you for coming today!" She said to the group. "Thank you for bringing gifts for Kate—and especially for the ones that make noise." Nick and Greg flashed smiles. She held up photographs. "We wanted you to have a little remembrance of today—the reason for today—as well as an announcement." She handed each adult a photo of the new Grissom family—Sara standing slightly behind Grissom who held Kate with Hank sitting at their feet. Kate was looking up at her mother; Hank was looking up at Grissom.

Everyone made some kind of appropriate, admiring remark; Nick was the first to notice Sara's right hand. Her index finger pointed at her abdomen. As they all knew of Sara's pregnancy, this was no announcement. He flipped the photo over and read aloud what was written in Sara's handwriting, "Sara, Gil, Kate, and William Warrick Grissom with Hank".

_A/N: Thanks so much for reading! We love to hear from you--especially those who are so nice to send us a review! **Now, all** **others---write us! Let us hear from everyone who has read this one to its end!!** It takes 30 seconds! We have at least two more stories to finish in the "A Few Days" series of Sara and Grissom and family, so watch for those! Again, thanks for reading. _


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